


Bloom

by anovelblogwrites



Series: oops i fell into the elriel trashcan [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anovelblogwrites/pseuds/anovelblogwrites
Summary: "They stayed that way, intertwined together in contented silence for what could have been hours, or just a few minutes. He couldn’t tell. Which was a very strange realization for him, because Azriel had always prided himself on his awareness, his attention to detail. But Elain had a way of making everything else fade away."





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> i thought the world needed more gentle elriel tbh. 
> 
> the title of this is also the title of a song by the paper kites. it was on repeat as i was writing this.

After the war, Elain planted a small twig in the gardens outside the townhouse as a tribute to her father. At the epicenter of her old garden at the estate stood a cherry blossom tree. Elain said that when it was in bloom, the sweet fragrance would cloak the grounds. Her father would stand outside with her and admire it. The tree was his favorite part of the garden, apart from its tender.

It was unsure whether the tree’s roots would be able to break through the rocky earth of the Night Court, if the flowers could bloom after such harsh winters. But Elain was determined, and with her nurture, the tree flourished. In a few years’ time, the brittle sapling had become a stately tree, and the centerpiece to Rhysand’s gardens every spring. 

Below its vivaciously pink branches, on her back in the soft grass, Azriel found Elain. A pale blue dress fanned around her. Her hair was a golden wreath around her head. She was holding one of the pink blossoms in her hands, twisting the short stem idly. The aura of harmony that seemed to follow Elain wherever she went was contagious. Azriel felt the malaise that had followed him home from the continent roiling off him in waves. With each step he took in her direction, he became lighter. 

“The flowers bloomed while you were away.” Elain’s voice was quiet. When he left, the branches were spindly and bare. She spoke without sitting up, or even craning her neck to look at him. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought that she Saw him coming. When he was standing right beside her, she presented the flower to him, as if it were evidence. 

Azriel accepted the flower, holding it as delicately as his brutal hands would allow, and examined its gossamer petals before tucking the stem behind Elain’s ear. She beamed at him. He lowered himself onto the grass next to her, positioning himself so he could let his wings spread out behind him without one of them bumping into Elain. The setting sun shone through the foliage, casting a warmth over them. He folded an arm behind his head and watched the spring breeze flow through the branches above him, occasionally casting off a petal or two. They floated in lazy spirals to the ground. 

When the weight of Elain’s head unexpectedly landed on his chest, Azriel felt every cell in his body go completely still. Although it had been on instinct, Azriel found himself compelled to draw out the reaction. Willing even his heart into stone, if only to keep it from thundering right below her ear.

She draped an arm across his chest, and whispered, “I’m glad you’re home.”

There seemed to be a barrier between Azriel’s brain and mouth that words simply could not circumnavigate. Unlike so many of his friends, he could not fight his battles with cleverly aimed insults, and often found himself relying on his fists. Honey-dipped words did not drip from his tongue. And he had made peace with it, figuring that Rhysand was grandiloquent enough for the both of them. 

But now, Azriel found himself wishing he was a bit more like his brother. Perhaps then he could express exactly what he was thinking; he wouldn’t be afraid to say what he was thinking. That he was happy to be home, too. But for him, home was not just the Night Court anymore. It was this feeling, he was sure of it. He was thinking that he missed her. 

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her this. As much as Azriel would like to attribute this to his ineloquence, he knew that it was because he was afraid. Not necessarily of Elain, or how she might react, but because of the way words seemed to come to life once they were said aloud. Saying all he was feeling would make it real--something he was not yet ready to face. So Azriel simply wound his arm around Elain’s waist, and hoped that pulling her closer would speak for him. 

They stayed that way, intertwined together in contented silence for what could have been hours, or just a few minutes. He couldn’t tell. Which was a very strange realization for him, because Azriel had always prided himself on his awareness, his attention to detail. But Elain had a way of making everything else fade away. The world had narrowed to the grass below him, the cherry blossoms above, and Elain. He listened to her heart as its beats became slower, and his eyelids grew heavy. 

Without really thinking about it, Azriel pulled his wings in and curled them around their bodies to block out what was left of the sun’s light. A habit he’d picked up during his time in the war camps, when he had to find a way to rest whenever he could find the time, no matter where the sun was in the sky. When sleep was fitful at best. And although the habit had persisted, it was not utter exhaustion dragging Azriel out of consciousness. He instead found himself to be dozing off peacefully. 

A finger ghosted over one of his wings. Azriel’s eyes flew open. The deep, steady breaths of slumber suddenly became a gasp so sharp it hurt his lungs. “It’s very dark under here,” she observed, a smile in her voice. 

She continued her path along his wing, until she reached the point where it overlapped with the other. The tips of her fingers marveled over the thin membrane like an adventurer reading a map, a keen interest driving her movements. Despite Azriel’s best efforts, a shiver shot down his spine. 

Mercifully, she did not explore further. Elain curled back into his chest, and the fingers that had been wreaking havoc on his wings--and his sanity--started tracing the swirls of ink peeking out from his shirt instead. The repetitive motion was soothing in a way Azriel had never thought to be possible. 

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the brush of Elain’s lips on his cheek. So soft, it could have been a kiss from the wind.


End file.
